Slash and Burn: The Slytherin Sex God
by NaughtyTautology
Summary: Severus Snape IS the Slytherin Sex God. Unfortunately, he's the only one who thinks so. New chapter! Hogwarts employment isn't always so glamorous...
1. Another Auspicious Beginning

"Lupin." Snape swept imperiously into the dingy office and planted himself directly in front of Lupin's desk. In the weak evening light his shadow seemed to extend forever; at least over the desk, over Lupin, and out the window. He paused for a moment to appreciate his towering, shadowy glory.

Lupin looked up warily. "Ah, hello, Severus... the Wolfsbane works fine. Obviously I'm a bit tired now, but.." He was indeed a bit tired, more than a bit - positively melting away in the best angst-filled sense of exhaustion - and certainly in no mood to deal with Snape's snide remarks or whatever else he was planning.

"What are you talking about?" Snape sounded of superior disdain. "You've had all day to recover. I even taught your insipid students for you. By now you should be well rested and ready for evening adventure... " Declaration thus made, he raised a suggestive eyebrow.

"What?" Lupin gasped in shock.

"Don't be a fool, Lupin. You know perfectly well what I'm referring to. It's been two months. The undeniable sexual tension between us has reached stifling levels." He paused, then added significantly, "Now is the time..."

Lupin sprang to his feet, wand in hand. "GET OUT!"

Snape only smirked in response. "Ridiculous. You can't deny it -- my silky raven locks, my sleek and elegant bearing - my _voice _alone --"

"LEAVE!"

Apparently now was not the time. "Well, Lupin, I can see you are of a weaker constitution than I originally thought. We shall have to discuss this when you are feeling more energetic." And without waiting for an answer, he turned and walked out, the rest of his robes making a magnificent arc as they swept along behind.

Lupin fell into his chair and slumped forward over the desk. He sighed, "Why can't I ever get my robes to billow out like that?"

* * *

Next morning's breakfast in the Great Hall found Lupin trying to sit on the other end of the table from Snape. In fact, Snape was surprised and none-too-pleased when Minerva McGonagall sat next to him. 

"Severus, you're looking particularly moody today," she observed simply.

"Thank you, I think I may safely say I have perfected the art of the dark, brooding glance," he answered, directing one such glance toward Lupin's end of the table. Then for good measure, he leaned on an elbow and glowered at the numerous tables of students before him.

McGonagall pursed her lips in distaste. "That was not intended to be a compliment."

Snape ignored her, began as if lecturing to a classroom, "Look at them. Like so many grains of sand. You try to mold them, they slide back into formlessness. You try to crush them, they're already miniscule specks. Yet they stick to your hand -- they get in your eye--"

"Severus, that is a terrible comparison!"

Another moody frown. "So... perhaps I haven't quite perfected the art of the romantic analogy," he offered. "Everyone needs a tragic flaw."

"Are you quite well?"

"I'm fine."

"You haven't touched your food."

Snape looked back to her. "Now Professor McGonagall, I realize that your concern for me takes many forms, and I appreciate the underlying sentiment. But you must understand that I receive these sorts of offers daily, and --"

"What are you talking about!" She put down her fork; this meant business.

He looked her squarely in the face, their eyes met - a battle of black and blue like a bruise that can't make up its mind what color it wants to be. All right, perhaps breakfast wasn't the best time to bring up the question of Professor McGonagall's long-standing and repressed love for him. "I don't eat breakfast," he said.

But she was not appeased. "What do you mean breakfast - what were you saying about 'offers'?"

"You were offering me your toast, were you not?"

"No! You have your own toast, Severus."

"True. But I haven't been able to reach the lemon curd and yours is positively smothered in it."

"Severus!"

Professor Sprout looked around McGonagall's shoulder. Fortunately Snape and McGonagall were sitting at the end of the table, or they'd have been receiving more concerned glances. "What's going on over there?" asked Sprout.

McGonagall stood abruptly. "He doesn't even like lemon curd," she announced and marched off.

Professor Sprout had the confused expression of a five-year old asked to solve an algebraic equation. "What..." Then she noticed McGonagall's half empty plate. "Oh, I see, lemon curd. Do you suppose she's going to eat that?"

"Take it. I must project the image of vampiristic fasting if I am to remain mysterious and irresistible," he answered lazily. He turned his attention back to glaring at the students. "Test this week," he muttered to himself, "will receive flocks of students under pretenses of study help... hmmm."

"Something the matter, Severus?" Professor Sprout asked, cheeks puffed out with a mouthful of toast.

"Perhaps I should consult Lupin about test-giving strategies," he said with a peculiar sneer.

"Mm, perhaps you should eat something," advised Sprout.

Suddenly the empty space between them was filled as Dumbledore appeared. He stood behind McGonagall's old chair and waited to be acknowledged.

"Hello, Albus - the lemon curd is especially good today," said Professor Sprout.

"Thank you, Pomona." Dumbledore turned to Snape, "Actually, Severus, I wanted to know if I might have a word with you in my office sometime today...?"

Snape glanced up. No, the eyes were not twinkling; this was a bad sign. It was one thing if McGonagall was fighting long-suppressed feelings for him, but it was entirely different if Dumbledore decided to get involved. "I have to teach today," he started evasively.

"Yes, pick a time when you're free." Only Dumbledore would dare smile when giving such a directive.

Snape sighed and pulled out a small black book from his robe pocket. "Let me see when that may be..." he glanced down the list of scheduled events for the day: _order backup newt eye, terrorize Longbottom, practice sneering, make suggestive comments to students_... down the list further: _brood in dungeon, think unthinkable thoughts abou_---"how'd that get written down?" he muttered.

"Severus. Four-thirty," said Dumbledore.

Snape's eyes jumped to the 4:30 time slot, where_ find my inner puppy _was wrriten. He frowned, "Well, I suppose I can manage that."

"Good, I'll see you then," Dumbledore smiled benignly and wandered back to his own seat.  
"Severus, are you sure you don't want any of this toast?" asked Professor Sprout.

Snape sighed and cast another languishing and brooding stare around the hall. Today might be more interesting than he wanted...


	2. Plot Thickening like Bad Gravy

Snape had become a bit ambivalent about afternoon potions with the Slytherins and Gryffindors. Certainly unnerving the students was one of his staple activities, but lately the children had seemed bolder.. more cunningly resistant. He had long since assumed that Lupin was somehow responsible for it. Perhaps now was the time to re-instil some of the trademarked Severus Snape Fear into the wretched creatures, grains of sand, what have you. He strode into the room, a fashionable five minutes behind schedule (best to make them wait on him). At the front of the classroom he stopped and faced them.

"Does the term 'Snarky' mean anything to you?"

Confused silence. Finally Hermione Granger tentatively raised her hand. Of course she would.

"Miss Oxford Concise English Dictionar-ghem--I mean Granger..." he sneered.

Granger blinked, but answered evenly. "Snarky: a slang term generally indicating irascibility and/or witty cynicism."

"And I suppose you know the etymology of the word as well?"

Her face fell, eyes darted about in thought. "E..r... I think -...well.."

"Snorken -- Low German!" he snapped, a bit too triumphantly. "Through Scandinavia and Holland," he added. "Honestly, Granger, 10 points from Gryffindor." He let the blow sink in as he took a few measured steps. Absent-mindedly he pulled out his wand, let it slap against his other hand like a riding crop. Too bad he wasn't a transfigurations teacher, or he'd make it a riding crop - much more appropriate for a Sex God anyway.

The class waited in tense silence.

"You are wondering why I asked such a question..." More pacing. "I have heard some students... " Grand Pause - let them sweat, "Some students use this term to refer to me. And while I disapprove in principle, I find it rather appropriate - for this week at least. Some of you will remember that we have an exam on Friday..."

Judging from the uncomfortable shifting in seats, most of them were hearing this news for the first time.

"Yes. An exam that will cover all the material you are supposed to have learned thus far. I know that many of you will use this as an excuse to flock to my office in search of 'extra help.' However...I will not be fooled by such tactics. You will only come to my office hours if you actually need help in potions, or I shall be very snarky indeed."

He scanned their expressions: a wide variety, some more thoughtful than he had intended.

"That is meant to be a threat!" he added emphatically. Bloody hormonal teenagers; he should have been flattered by the attention, but that was to be expected. There were more important affairs that occupied him these days..

"And you'll be happy to know we have one more new potion before the exam.."

* * *

After class Snape set off for Dumbledore's office, taking the solitary walk to brood over his troubles. It was 4:30: time after a long day to sit back with a cup of tea and consider the implications of being Severus Snape. or wait - wasn't 4:30 reserved for finding the inner puppy? Yes, he scowled in noble determination at a nearby plant arrangement. He shouldn't be running off to Dumbledore's office; he should be sitting back with his cup of tea and trying to reach his inner Good. After all, deep within every Sex God one should find a cute, cuddly basset hound.. he paused. Maybe not basset hound - maybe --

"Severus, please watch where you're going."

Snape was surprised to find Lupin standing before him. Of course the fool would have the nerve to be wandering around outside Dumbledore's office like a gargoyle on patrol. Perhaps he wanted to be walked into. "Well you're looking sickly again, Lupin," Snape observed dryly. "When will you give up this ridiculous pretense of frailty?" He stepped closer. "Those of us who know you are not taken in..."

"Then you should be more sympathetic," Lupin answered irritably.

"This is not about sympathy - this is about pure animal instinct - unavoidable desire - what --" he lowered his voice dramatically, "What if I were to tell you that I were also a dark creature?"

Lupin only smirked. "I might believe that."

"Of course. It makes perfect sense: I hardly eat, I spend my days brooding in the dark dungeons, I slink about so elegantly in my black robes, I am hardly story-book handsome and yet - I exert a strangely powerful magnetic attraction on all those around me.. There is only one conclusion to be drawn: I must be... a Vampire."

Lupin fell back against the stone wall - but not in wide-eyed horror, in laughter. "Ah ahahah- straight-faced hahah -deliveryahahah-"

"What are you laughing at, fool! Damn these dramatic monologues," he cursed to himself.

"I think -- hah - I think I might believe that one of your potions went sour," said Lupin, finally recovering his breath enough to form a sentence.

Snape stared at him in righteous indignation. "So now you have insulted the honour of my potions. Just be glad I am in the mood to be the suffering, misunderstood creature of ridicule right now..."

"And I appreciate that more than you can imagine," said Lupin. "In fact, I'm just going to let you alone to suffer, misunderstood, as long as you want." He started to walk away, but Snape darted forward and caught him by the upper arm.

"And you meanwhile will develop a terrible guilt complex over the whole affair. By the end of the day you'll have no choice but to show up at my private chambers to apologize--"

"What--"

"No later than 9." He released Lupin's arm, which (he noted in satisfaction) had tensed considerably at the touch. "Do excuse me, I have a meeting with Albus." Another trademarked exit by flourish - let Lupin be impressed -- after all, this was Snape's last bit of amusement before he'd have Dumbledore offering him lemon drops laced with whatever narcotics the old man was into these days...

* * *

He stood corrected. Dumbledore was only smoking a pipe: no lemon drops or narcotics to be seen, although Snape had to grimace at the suspiciously unindentifiable smell emanating from said pipe.

"Do sit down, Severus. Now I'll get straight to the point, as I know I am interrupting your busy schedule -- something involving small dogs, wasn't it?" asked Dumbledore conversationally.

Snape blinked. That wasn't the sort of thing one said to a Sex God; it had unpleasant implications. "Go on, Albus..."

"Well, you know that with the impending threat of an attack on Hogwarts I have increased security on the premises. I'm only asking every teacher also to contribute to --"

"Oh," Snape knew what this was about. "You want me to keep an eye on Lupin. Of course-"

"Actually, Severus--"

Snape continued with as much enthusiasm as was proper for a dark, mysterious Master of the Evening, "You've come to the right person. You know I've always suspected him of some conspiracy," he stood abruptly, pushed in his chair. "Have my word, I will not let him out of my sight - nor will I hesitate to impose any kind of disciplinary measures-"

Dumbledore stared at him curiously over the top of his spectacles, pipe hanging dangerously low at the corner of his mouth.

"--that are within appropriate bounds, of course," Snape added hastily. He cleared his throat. "Now then, I'll not detain you any longer. I do appreciate your trust, Albus. Off to my task!" And he marched off without another word.

Dumbledore was left to muse over the situation. "Curious... I should really stop smoking these pipes..."


	3. Family Home Life

Late night in the Slytherin common room.

Draco Malfoy and his henchmen-friends Crabbe and Goyle sat before the fireplace; the light of the fire cast flickering shadows over them like a bug infestation gone out of hand.

"You know..." Draco started lazily. "Wouldn't it be cool to have a Hogwarts karaoke contest?"

"Er..." Crabbe and Goyle glanced to each other across Malfoy's head.

"I mean -" Draco sat up angrily, "We're going to FAIL that stupid potions exam on Friday!"

"Maybe we should study?"

"Don't be a fool, you know the textbook makes no sense. We'll have to go to someone for help: either mudblood Granger or Professor Snape." He leaned back on the sofa with a sigh, "Equally unpleasant."

The decision was not so strenuous for Crabbe and Goyle, neither of whom would have to talk at any stage of the studying process. "It should be Professor Snape," announced Crabbe.

"I suppose, but... it's just that ...well, someone with so little interest in hair care has to be... a bit _off_."

Crabbe and Goyle shrugged.

"Anyway, I'll go to his office hours tomorrow." Draco shuddered, "I know he's our head of house, but it's still unnerving to go in there and see all those dead fish heads in jars - or whatever it is he's got. I try not to pay attention.. disgusting."

* * *

Meanwhile, Snape was taking to his new "assignment" with zeal. Stalk Lupin, protect the school, work on his dramatic monologues all at the same time. It even made up for the fact that he did not have any immediate plans for evening entertainment, or that he still hadn't decided what sort of inner puppy he should have. Basset hounds were certainly out... as were werewolves.

"Now if I, Severus Snape Slytherin Sex God, were actually a dark, scheming social misfit... " he trailed off, vaguely disturbed, as he left his office. "hm.. If I were Remus Lupin.. What would I be doing and Where would I be right now?" He finished by casting an arch glance about the hallway. Too bad there was no one around to be seduced by it.

"I would be communing with my co-conspirator, plotting the overthrow of Hogwarts defenses and the destruction of Potter..." He paused again; after all, the destruction of Potter wouldn't be a bad thing - if nothing else, then one less hormonal teenager to worry about. "Or perhaps I would be moping in my office waiting for a one Severus Snape to show up and.. " this time he trailed off just in case Filch was lurking.

Sure enough, the silence was soon interrupted by frantic whispering - of students. Snape crept towards the sound - even his robes knew to stop swishing when need be. He paused since the three students seemed to be just around the corner; besides, he was particularly pleased with the way the dim light produced a long elegant shadow on the stones beside him. It gave him something to admire while he eavesdropped.

"Wait - what do you think he was saying, Hermione?" That was Weasley, befuddled as usual.

"What do you think, Ron! He was clearly suggesting that some students might want - might want.. er... well, you know!"

"No, I don't think so, Hermione, that's just wrong." Potter, of course -- obstinantly stupid for the sake of Morality, just like his father. Between him and Weasley it was amazing that Granger was passing any classes.

"What is!"

"Shh! I think-" she lowered her voice, but Snape could still hear, "he was saying that some students... might show up for.. sexual favors!"

"Wha - EWW!"

Snape had to smirk at that; he took one lurching step around the corner - robes back in full swinging action - and confronted the students. Gryffindors or not, they looked terrified.

"Miss Granger, I am well aware that you are more.. _precocious _than your sidekicks here. However, you are not mature enough to appreciate the full benefits of that sort of student-teacher relationship. Nor is the school system either."

Granger was speechless, a delicate shade of maroon.

"Perhaps in a few years when you definitively conclude that boys your age are a waste of time and that I am the dark, misunderstood--"

Potter stepped forward, wand drawn "That's an insult, Professor!"

"Potter, put that away - it's far too early in the year to be hexing professors. I'm sure there's a reason for you all to be in detention now, but I have more important matters to attend to." He strode away, leaving them shocked in the middle of the hallway.

* * *

Soon Snape neared the faculty lounge, from which he heard the sounds of struggle, heavy breathing, groaning, commotion. A sudden gasp from behind clenched teeth -

"_cheating_!-"

Although he recognized the voice and it did not belong to Lupin, Snape's curiousity got the better of him. He peered through the door, already cracked open. There seated at the large oak table were Minerva McGonagall and Filch - armwrestling. A good match, he mused. Next to them were two steaming cups of tea; Mrs. Norris was perched peaceably on the other end of the table; the fire crackled to the empty armchairs before it... quite the idyllic picture of family home life?

"ARGh--HAH!" The match came to an abrupt end as McGonagall slammed Filch's arm down.

"No using magic!" he immediately moped, slumping back in his chair.

"I never do, and you know it." She took a sip of tea.

Snape stepped inside the room. "Ah, yes. Now I am reminded why I don't spend time in the faculty lounge..."

McGonagall and Filch turned toward the newcomer - and so did Lupin, his head appearing from one the armchairs near the fireplace. "No need to start now," he answered cheerily.

Snape took this as a personal affront.

"Severus, are you feeling any better this evening?" asked McGonagall, who seemed to have recovered from the armwrestling bout the second she finished it.

"Oh, I suppose.. " he took a stray book off the table and approached the armchairs. "Not proactive enough to do anything," he directed a glare at Lupin as he sat in a nearby chair. He looked at the book he had taken; it was worn and faded, though the cover had originally been quite ornate. "Hmm... _Musical Magicking: The Novice's Compleate Guide to Hex Humming_... Whose is this?"

"Albus was reading that. I believe he just takes the most obscure books from the library and leaves them on the table for our amusement," said Lupin.

"Well this is a damned daft conversation," Filch announced, still pouting. "Why don't one of you strapping lads come over here and show Professor McGonagall how to fight properly?"

Snape answered with a derisive snort; Lupin and McGonagall chuckled.

"Minerva, you're not supposed to find that as amusing as I do.."

"Well, Argus," McGonagall ignored Lupin. "You know it's my policy not to start too many fights myself... although if our _strapping lads_ would prefer to fight each other, I'd not stop it." Was that a smile lurking at her lips like a shark shadow beneath the surface? She would have the perverse nerve to suggest such a thing.

Snape scoffed. "I'll have nothing to do with it."

"I think that's the wise thing," added Lupin.

Filch and McGonagall sat sipping their tea in unaccepting silence. "I can't tell which one's scared of the other," offered Filch.

"It's not a question of fear," Snape stood in agitation; his honour as Slytherin Sex God had been offended yet again. Did these Philistines understand nothing? As if he couldn't take Lupin. "It's a matter of benevolence."

"I don't think I'm as sickly as I was feeling yesterday.." Snape turned to see if Lupin looked as mischievous as that sounded. Lupin was not facing him, though, having developed an apparent fascination with the design on the armchair's upholstery.

"You were sickly three hours ago!"

"Well, Minerva brews a strong pot of tea."

"That's what I thought," said McGonagall, shark fin surfacing at last.

"Well then, are you two just going to sit there?" asked Filch.

One sitting, one standing, the two regarded each other. The crackling of the fire became obnoxiously loud in the ensuing silence; tension saturated the air like oppressive humidity before a storm; even the hair on Mrs. Norris's neck stood up like the fur on a cat's back--

"Well.." started Snape...

* * *

A/N: uh oh, one of those TBC cliffhanger deals. thanks, reviewers. Just a note to warn that TheAuthor's views of Snape do not necessarily (or really, just plain do not) correspond to Snape's views of himself. 


	4. Another Inane Episode

A/N: We last left our heros in a dark showdown - will they succumb to the Thanatos instinct and armwrestle?

* * *

"If you're really intent on the embarrassment, Lupin.." Snape watched Lupin suspiciously. Challenging Snape at armwrestling -- Masochist werewolf? It didn't follow; something else was at play here. 

Lupin leaned back in his chair, eyes directed above the fireplace; he spoke more loudly as if addressing the room. "Of course, I'm probably overestimating my own strength.. It's a good thing I have Professor Snape around to watch out for my well being."

"Now you are insufferable, Remus!" snapped McGonagall.

"What now--" Filch began.

Snape was equally miffed, although he, being the skilled master in the art of concealing emotions, did not let on. "Good thing I have _Hex Humming_ here to offer me some challenge," he sat again and opened the book.

McGonagall and Filch glared at each other across the table. Mrs. Norris swished her tail in distaste.

"Apparently my tea is not that strong," announced McGonagall after a heavy moment of silence.

"No, it's damned weak," said Filch.

Snape began to hum.

"Now are you going to sit there all night and --" the hair on Filch's head turned sky blue. "What!"

Lupin peered around the armchair. "That's an interesting color, Mr. Flich."

"I think green would be better," added McGonagall.

"Blue's fine, really."

"Green matches his eyes."

"That's why blue is better."

Snape hummed another tune - nothing happened. _Nothing _wasn't supposed to happen. He glared at the book; almost irritating enough to distract him from the fact that he was not engaged in sweaty arm-to-arm combat with arch nemesis and current target of romantic conquest Remus Lupin.

"Change this back!" demanded Filch, squirming about in his chair.

Snape scowled. There was no concentrating to be done here. He stood and strode to the door, taking the old book with him. "I can see this is a waste of my time. However, should those of you who have offended me with your_ insulting afternoon behavior _feel it necessary to apologize, you know where to find me." He swept out.

"I do need to ask him about the billowing robes though," said Lupin reflectively.

"WAIT! You can't just walk out on me! I'm not fit to be seen like this!" Filch yelled after him.

McGonagall smiled at Filch. "No trouble, Argus, I can change it back... If you can beat me at another round.." She lifted her arm , elbow set on the table.

"WHAT!"

* * *

With years of professoring experience, Severus Snape had come to the conclusion that morning office hours were best. The diligent students would take other classes during this time, and the lazy ones would sleep in. This combined with afternoon classes allowed for the optimal Student-Survival Configuration. 

He leaned back in his chair now, cup of tea in hand, leering in triumph at the fact that he couldn't even remember the last time a student came for potions help. Must have been last spring's midterm exam...No small wonder that he smiled now, as last evening's events (or non-events) had left him in the mood of someone who'd eaten a few too many compost-flavoured Bertie Bott's beans.

A strained knock at the door.

"Damn." He raised his voice to an ominous bellow. "ENTER!"

The door began to creak open, slowly, timidly. Snape could smell the fear... and also, he sniffed, the distinct scent of hair sheen potion. Malfoy.

"Mr. Malfoy, please enter the room or forever hold your peace."

Draco Malfoy appeared, blond head taking on a ridiculously light luster in contrast to the dim of the room. (At this rate the fool would just set his hair on fire before his seventh year.) He closed the door gingerly, although he tried to pull himself up and regain some of the famed Malfoy dignity. "Good morning, Professor Snape."

Snape set down his cup of tea. "What is the meaning of this?"

"I .. I came for potions help," he delivered the line as he stared at the floor.

"Is that all?"

"Er.. that's about it, Professor."

Snape stood so as to look as imposing as possible. "I suppose you spent all night studying. Now you're tired, achey, incapable of independent thought, and you still don't understand a good third of the exam material. Perhaps if you throw yourself at Professor Snape's feet and beg for mercy, he will take pity on you and make everything better..."

"Well, yes, that was the general plan," Malfoy admitted.

"Bad form, Malfoy! You should know your Professor prefers a challenge. This will not do. Go work on your approach." He waved him off and sat abruptly, case closed.

Malfoy did not budge. "But Professor, I really don't understand the last two potions we did. You went over yesterday's too fast--"

"Begging may be a good idea in principle, but it will not work in this case, Mr. Malfoy."

The young Malfoy allowed his face to crumple into the classic Malfoy Pout™. Snape smirked as it brought back the sudden memory of Lucius Malfoy pulling the same exact pout for Lord Voldemort years ago.. some inane argument about Yorkshire pudding. "Very well, in honor of your esteemed lineage, I'll give you a second try." He leaned forward, eyebrow raised, elegant hands folded across the desk - a pose to be envied by any Sex God aspirant. "Now tell me: Why are you here?"

Malfoy considered for a moment. "Well yesterday's potion - I can get about halfway through it, and then it seems to just explode whenever I add the hyaci--"

"Not acceptable."

"But Professor, I just don't understand the reactive qualities of hyacinth extract...!"

"No." Snape shook his head. "My dear child, I invented that euphemism in my third year as a student at this school."

Malfoy stood back, completely lost. "But-"

That was it. "Mr. Malfoy, before you attempt to seduce any more teachers, you should learn from your father the fine art of charismatic self-presentation."

Draco's eyes went wide in sudden realization. He stumbled back, tripping over his own feet, words, whatever else was in the way. "Ah - right, ok, Professor Snape, I just remembered.. Quidditch - I mean - I'll ask Pansy for potions help, no disturbing you - I must go!" he opened the door and slid out as quickly as possible.

Snape leaned back in his chair and let the event wash over; being involved with a Malfoy (of any generation) was bad news. But he had to smirk. "Fool Malfoys. There's more to it than blond hair."

Soon there was another gentle knock at the door. "ENTER!"

The door did not open, but rather the history teacher Professor Binns wafted through it.

"Well, Professor Snape," he began slowly, "I know you're a busy young professor, so I won't waste your time. But there are some writings on the wall that you should investigate..."

Snape waited a moment; he couldn't tell whether Binns was done or just pausing. "Yes?"

"It seems to involve your house... Something about 'Slytherin Gods' and... well, I just don't know what the world is coming to these days..." he turned and glided away.

"Hm.. investigate indeed." Any imposter Slytherin Sex God was to be rooted out immediately...


	5. Literary Ambitions

Snape set off towards the Slytherin hall, musing that he had been far too accessible this morning. It was well nigh on 10 o'clock and he had already sent off one student, been accosted by a colleague, and was investigating a heinous prank when he ought to be sitting at his desk brooding and studying the effects of different lighting on his shadow. Perhaps he'd have to change his office hours. Evening office hours? During quidditch matches.

As he turned the corner, he was struck with a sensation as if a cool air had suddenly knocked the wind out of him.

"Agh - Nicholas...!"

"Oh, good morrow, Professor Snape!" It was Nearly Headless Nick, the Gryffindor House ghost and self-appointed busy-body. "How goes it?"

"I am trying to go, as a matter of fact. There's trouble afoot."

"Ah! I love a good spot of trouble! Why I can recall a good 200 - no, was it 250? years ago when one of your Slytherin ancestors -" He wafted alongside Snape as he continued down the hall. It completely destroyed the sense of determined urgency to have a babbling grey fool floating at head level. Even undead, Gryffindors were nuisances.

Snape turned to face Nick., but the ghost kept going, and Snape found himself turning again. "Will you -- be still!" he demanded. Nick paused. "Do you have anything important to say?"

Nick smiled. "Oh, Professor Snape. Always the man of affairs. Always somewhere running off to - no time to chat with poor old Nick.".. his face contorted into what Snape supposed was a pout.

Snape frowned. It wasn't possible..but then... "Sir Nicholas, I would, for the record, remind you that you are a ghost, the undead, a personage who has - or should have - NO interest whatsoever in earthly affairs of the romantic variety. And I, as an earthly, fleshy being, have no interest whatsoever in affairs of the...spiritual variety. Is that clear?"

Nick seemed to have almost disappeared into the wall. He stared, mouth open.

"Good." Snape turned smartly and continued on his way.

"Damned odd things going on in this school these days..." muttered Nick as he wafted down the hall in the opposite direction. "And I thought it was bad enough seeing Sirius Black again... what awful potions has Snape been brewing...?"

* * *

On the Slytherin hall, Severus Snape encountered a large group of students outside the common room. He slowed his pace for a more majestic approach, and the students (at least they could do something right) stepped aside to make way. Soon Snape found himself staring down the work of a bold graffiti artist. Purple letters, with outrageous neon yellow outlines...

"Abominable," he muttered.

Students murmered to each other in apprehension. Who had written it? Whom was it referring to? What would Snape do??

Snape turned to the crowd slowly; his very glance silenced any conversations. He had to admit: obnoxious as hunting down the offender was going to be, the opportunity to exude seductive Slytherin Sex God Charisma in such a clutch situation was almost worth the trouble.

"I suppose we should begin by establishing the evidence," he stated. "For those of you who are not literate, allow me to offer a dramatic reading of this in my dark silky tones..." he gestured at the wall, the purple glow of the letters casting a sickly light on his hand.

"Throughout the many winding Hogwarts halls,

To live is this pale creature's lonely fate,

And since he cries and scares us with his calls,

It seems he's destined ne'er to find a mate.

Sometimes when the sun is low and the hour late,

Amidst the wild woods he runs amuck,

He seeks in vain a way to satiate,

For one so confident he's got no luck.

Although we must admire the creature's pluck,

We cannot submit to any sordid rule,

Nor grant a single of his requests to ...

Such life lessons are what we learn at school!" (Snape did not read the exclamation mark.)

"We thank our stars for this model sod

So we don't become the next Slytherin Sex God."

Grand Pause.

"Does anyone know what form of poetry that is?" Silence. Where was textbook-regurgitation specialist Granger when you needed her?

"That is a Spenserian sonnet," Snape continued. "Note the rhyme scheme: abab bcbc cdcd and ee…" The students looked confused. How could one of these grains of sand have written it? Impossible. Only Granger was up to it, and she certainly spent her time memorizing more textbooks, or bailing the dunder-headed duo out of trouble.

"It's also terrible," he felt compelled to add. His superior literary taste had been offended. "Does anyone want to offer me some information about our budding poet? Perhaps the time when this was first noticed?"

There was motion now. Obviously some students were prodding another into confessing. Snape was rather surprised to see Gregory Goyle step forward, unaccompanied by Crabbe or Malfoy.

"I, uh, I saw it last night, Professor Snape, Sir." He stared at the ground.

"Alone?"

"Draco and Vincent were studying for the potions exam. I went for a snack." Goyle acting on his own? This smacked of suspicion.

Snape raised an eyebrow. Let the students be amazed at the minute control over every stunning facial feature. "And did it not occur to you that a Spenserian sonnet on the wall was a little unusual?"

"I didn't get it." Obviously not.

"Mr. Goyle, did it also not occur to you to report this?"

"But…" He had some spine, apparently. "I thought it was, like, a poem." Groaning from the general student contingent. At least Goyle was the bottom of the barrel.

Snape addressed the others. "Is any one responsible for this?" Silence.

Malfoy raised a timid hand. "I bet it was Potter, Sir."

"Thank you for that suggestion, Mr. Malfoy. It will be considered as best it deserves. But shouldn't you – and many of you – be studying for your potions exam?" Draco and a good number of them squirmed. "Yes, carry on as you were. This will be handled accordingly."

The students filed out as Snape smirked in distaste. Of course no one would admit to it. But then, he didn't believe it was a Slytherin student who had done this. Who had the audacity and wit to mock him in verse? Certainly not one of his own. Someone more mature in humor, someone with literary understanding, someone with the patience to write a sonnet – and how perverse to use a sonnet, that traditional mode of expressing love-- Snape paused.

"Of course…" He would deal with the culprit this very moment.


	6. Meeting of Minds

It was obvious to Severus Snape that Lupin had written the infamous sonnet. Writing poems on walls - such a ridiculous method of communication. But could anything better be expected from a werewolf? Certainly not the suave, elegant modes of seduction that Snape himself employed.

Now he paused in the hallway and pulled out his black book. Sunlight streamed down upon him from the nearby window as clouds passed. He stepped aside irritably; this was no hour to be conducting such investigations.

"What was I doing..." he opened his notebook. "Rather, what was I supposed to be doing? Ah yes, Severus Snape, Slytherin Sex God: Daily Schedule... fifteen past 10 in the morning.." he trailed off as he scanned the page. 9:00 Office hours, 10:00 add more aconite... "Really?" he muttered outloud. How ironic. He was supposed to be adding more wolfsbane to that confounded potion. "Like having a lover," he sneered, "requires constant attention, nurturing... the whispering of sweet nothings in its ear...you coax, caress... and what in return for your efforts?"

"Severus, are you quite well!" It was not a question.

Snape turned, robes forming an artistic arc. There was Minerva McGonagall; she seemed to have appeared next to him. He considered her for a moment, then finally spoke, more to himself than anyone else, "If I were an animagus, what would I be..? Perhaps a bat. That would strengthen the vampire case."

"That is not relevant."

"Or a lynx... how exotic, and also dangerous, yes..."

"Severus! What do you propose to do about the writing outside the Slytherin dormitory?"

"That is being taken care of." He raised one eyebrow, intending for her to get the clue and leave.

But Minerva McGonagall was stubborn. "How so? Did you find out who did it?"

Time for a new course of action. He took a sweeping step closer to her. "Minerva," he drawled the name, "I find it fascinating that you are so involved with things Slytherin these days..." She bristled. "And with my activities in particular."

McGonagall straightened her shoulders even more than usual. It flashed through Snape's mind that she might pull a muscle in her neck if she straightened them anymore. "I have indeed taken an interest in your activities of late -- you seem somewhat distracted these days. What is the problem?"

"If you think me distracted, why should you distract me further? Of course, I understand your real motivations. But you must excuse me, I have a potion to attend..." He tried to step around her.

She moved in his way. "That's another thing. We need to discuss this apparent misunderstanding of yours."

"Misunderstanding?"

"I've been thinking about what you said at breakfast on Monday. It's clear that you are laboring under the false impression that my feelings for you are.. more than professional." She glared in his eye, "That is not the case."

Snape sighed, though it was not in relief. "I'm glad you've reached the point where you're confronting these problems. I'll leave you to work them out. You wouldn't want me to spoil Lupin's potion, would you?"

"Very well, but do you need any help with the graffiti prank?"

"I told you I've got it under control." With that, he strode back towards his dungeon office, as he was in no mood for any more of McGongall's delusional episodes.

"And Severus! Don't forget today's faculty meeting as you so conveniently did last week!"

* * *

Attending faculty meetings was probably the most un-Severus-Snape-Sex-God-like thing that Snape had to do. Granted, cleaning cauldrons was also pretty high on the Unsexy List, but there was something decidedly undignified about sitting at a long table listening to colleagues comment on the state of various subcommittees and their non-progress. Undignified, yes. And catatonically boring.

"Now let us have Madam Pomfrey present her quarterly report on health care at Hogwarts..." Dumbledore announced something to that effect. Snape was aware that slouching on the table, head propped by hand, was not a particularly attractive pose. Yet somehow he couldn't bring himself to move. He glanced down the table at Lupin, who had the nerve to look interested in the subject.

"Health care dependent nancy..." he muttered to himself. He sighed; this was going to be a long meeting.

Thirty minutes later, Snape was just losing to the forces of sleep when he sensed movement nearby. Rubeus Hagrid, located to his right, was now standing up and saying something.

"I'd love ter be on the committee, Professor Dumbledore! I can ge' ter work righ' away."

"Excellent, but you'll need two more professors on the committee with you... Any volunteers?"

On Snape's left, Pomona Sprout raised her hand. "I think that would be perfect for me."

"Good, thank you, Pomona. Anyone else?"

Tense silence. Athough Snape had not the faintest idea what this committee was about, he instinctively knew it should be avoided. Committee work was like cleaning cauldrons - cleaning cauldrons with help from people who had neither experience nor skill cleaning cauldrons. And this committee had to be especially painful if Hagrid and Sprout were interested. It was probably the committee for counting glumbumble larvae or something equally awful...

Snape glanced around the table, assuming that his dark look would scare off anyone who may have been considering him for the job. Minerva McGonagall stared back at him challengingly.

"I'd like to nominate Professor Lupin," Snape announced. McGonagall had been too feisty lately; it was best to go on the offensive. An aggressive Sex God ought to make the first move anyway.

Lupin smile that damned benign smile of his. "I'd love to, but I'm already on the arts activities committee and you remember junior faculty aren't supposed to be on more than one committee their first year. But.. if you're not too busy perhaps you could lend your expertise and wisdom to the group?"

Were Dumbledore's eyes twinkling visibly from halfway down the table? Snape scowled, but before he could say a word--

"I'd like to second that nomination. After all, Severus, if I may say so myself, you have been particularly lax in your administrative duties of late," added McGonagall.

"You're really the best-suited for it," said Professor Flitwick.

So! A team attack! A Sex God should be used to everyone wanting him, but everyone wanting him on a boring faculty committee was entirely different. Snape sniffed nobly, having instantly changed tactics. When outnumbered like this, it was best to take the blow and emit an elegant air of suffering. This faculty meeting was, after all, not the optimal environment for strangling Lupin to death. "Well, I suppose I could offer my services."

"That'd be great, Professor Snape!" blubbered Hagrid. He grabbed Snape's hand and shook it vigorously. "We'd love ter have yeh on the team!"

"Good," said Dumbledore, "Then the Groundskeeping Statistics subcommittee is hereby comprised of Professors Hagrid, Sprout, and Snape."

Groundskeeping Statistics?! There would be retribution for this. Painful, bloody retribution, possibly involving chains, tetanus-infected nails, hot --

"Great! We can meet tomorrow!" said Sprout -- or chirped, rather -- positively chirped in anticipation.

As the meeting was ending and professors bustling about, Snape managed to catch Lupin's eye and glared magnificently. "A word with you, Lupin," he sneered, admirably in control of the silky tone as always. Surely the werewolf would have to pause and listen.

"I'm sorry, Severus, but I have to run and prepare for class!" replied Lupin and he disappeared past Hagrid.

Really really bloody retribution. No sonnet was going to save him from that...


End file.
